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From: One Gallus <onegallus@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Ernest Ernestine 1 (Fm, inc)
Date: Mon, 14 Jan 2002 21:10:03 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Ernest 1.txt" begin>

Disclaimer: Persons under eighteen years of age are not permitted
to read this work.  Any resemblance to actual persons living or
dead is purely co-incidental.  You are not permitted to change
this work in any way.   You are not permitted to use this work on
any site without obtaining permission from the author.  This work
may not be sold without the author's permission.

Ernest Ernestine

Part 1

Ernie was only eleven and I felt so sorry for him when his dad,
withering under Lucille's prudery, fell apart and was about to
beat on him with his belt.  Lucille and George, her husband, used
to be our friends before then.  Lucille was Lottie's mother and
Lottie was nine.  All Ernie and Lottie had done was what most
little folks do.  They were exploring, exploring each other out
there in that refrigerator box where they were playing house. 
From Lucille's reaction one would have concluded that Ernie was a
twenty-one year old pedophile.  He was only eleven. Lucille
demanded that Tom take a strap to Ernie right then and there. 

Tom was fumbling for his belt when I stepped in and said,
"That'll be enough of that Lucille.  We'll punish Ernie when we
see fit.  You take you family and go now."  All three of them
went without eating the meal I had prepared.   George was silent,
but Lucille snorted and sniffed and whimpered out the door. 
Lottie, the poor "victim" of Ernie's "perversion" left the house
with a peculiar cupid's bow of a smile.

After they had gone, Tom began pulling his belt from its loops. I
said, "Tom, let's go back in the bedroom, I need to ask you
something before you get started with Ernie's punishment." In the
bedroom, I was careful not to encroach on Tom's authority as a
father. I supposed one could say I sweet-talked him.  "Didn't you
do the same thing when you were a kid?" I asked gently.

"Yes, but my Dad raised a few welts on my backside."

"And all that it taught you to do was raise some welts on Ernie's
backside.  Tom, he doesn't know about sex.   He's a little boy. 
Talk to him! Don't whop him!"

"You do the talking, sweetheart, I'll do the whoppin'. He need's
his rear-end tanned.  He needs to know that what he did was
wrong. Anyway, he's too young for a man to talk with him."

"Well I know it's a good idea to punish him," I was nodding, "But
since he didn't really know what he was doing, why not just take
the television away from him for a week.  That's the worst thing
you can do to him right now.  I'll talk with him, tell him about
sex, not too much, but enough that he'll know right and wrong.
I'll talk to him good," I said. " I'm a woman, and he needs to
know about sex from my standpoint at this age.  Your right, he's
too young to have a man handle it.  If he's defiant, then I'll
let you know and you can whop him." Tom understood when I put in
these simple terms.

Actually I had long since talked to Ernie about how babies were
born.  Tom didn't know that, but this was the only way I knew to
divert him from his violent purpose.  Besides, I had only told
Ernie the minimum since his questions were minimal and he did
need to be upgraded.

"Right," said Tom, as if it had been his idea, surprising me. I
knew he'd give in and let me handle it, but it came more quickly
than I'd anticipated.

"Right," I said, "I'll talk with him tomorrow."

"I'm gonna tell him," Tom said, "that since he didn't know
nothing about sex, I've changed my mind about whipping, you
know."

"Yes," I nodded, trying not to smile.

"I'll say that you're gonna talk to him pretty soon about it and
then I'll tell him more when he's old enough to understand. I'll
tell him he needs know that what he did was very bad, so I'm
gonna take the television away from him for two weeks." Tom's
index finger was chopping the air as he listed what he was going
to do.

"But didn't you say one week?"

"Yes, but now, as I think about it,  too easy.  He needs at least
two whole weeks."  Tom's voice was deep and decisive.

"Good idea" I said.  I knew he would at least double the
punishment I suggested.

Tom stroked his chin a moment.  "Don't you think we ought to get
Ernie in church?  Maybe they could do some of this for us."

"Probably."

"You think you could look around for one, maybe in the yellow
pages?" he asked.

"I'll do that tomorrow."

"You could call up the pastor; ask his advice on this sort of
thing."

"Good idea," I said, knowing I wouldn't do it.

I remembered how my father had caught my older brother and me
naked in the barn and how he had made me stand outside the cow
stall, nude, breastless and hairless, shivering while he whacked
Roland around with a one-by-four.  He then sent Roland to the
house, carrying his clothes over his arm and it was my turn to
enter the stall.

All I had done was to show Roland my "privates" and hold his
penis while he urinated in the corner of the barn.  I can still
remember the sensation of the water gushing through the fleshy
tube on the underside of his penis. I remembered the giddy
sensation of having done something "really bad." 
Papa told me that since I was a girl and younger than Roland (I
was seven), he wasn't going to use the board on me.  He bent me
over his knee and spanked me with his bare hand on my naked butt,
making my skin sting.  At first it wasn't bad, but he prolonged
the spanking until my rear end was aching and sore.  Then he told
me how I would go to hell for doing such things and that I was to
pray and ask forgiveness.  He told Mama about it and she refused
to talk to me for a month.

I wasn't going to let that happen with my son if I could help it,
and I did help it. The next morning after the incident Tom had
left for work at 6:30. I lay down for an hour before my own
breakfast and napped, which was my usual routine.  When I woke, I
padded toward the kitchen, still in my nightgown, to get some
coffee that I had made earlier. On my way, I passed the living
room and I found Ernie there, eating a bowl of cereal and
watching television.  

Good morning Ernie."

"Uh . . . Hi, Mom."

I continued to the kitchen, poured my coffee and took a sip. I
carried it back to the living room with me.  He was in the floor,
sitting cross-legged and dressed in just what he slept in, his
jockey shorts. I stood in the doorway and sipped my coffee.

"Turn off the television, Ernie."

"Aw Mom!  It's my favorite . . ."

"Remember, it's your punishment." Ernie frowned, reached over and
turned it off and looked at me innocently.

"Finish your cereal and then go rinse the bowl in the kitchen
sink.   Then come back to my bedroom.  I'm supposed to talk to
you.  Remember, you agreed to all this."

"Okay," he whined, and looked down at his cereal, which had
soaked up so much milk by this time it was sickeningly soggy, the
way Ernie liked it.

I turned to go as just as he was lifting a spoon of the
disgusting Frosted Flakes toward his mouth. I carried my coffee
back with me and made my way down the hall passed Ernie's room. 
The hallway then turns at a right angle and goes by another
bathroom, another bedroom and then straight into the large master
bedroom.  I paused as soon as I was around the corner and out of
sight.  I stood silently.  After a few seconds, the television
came back on, the volume lowered and I could hardly hear it.  I
smiled and continued on to my bedroom.  When I got there, I went
into my bathroom, which was off the bedroom but down a short
corridor from the room itself.  After a couple of sips of coffee,
I stripped, showered, and dried.  I put on a light cotton robe
and brushed my hair.  I picked up my toothbrush and loaded it
with Crest.  While I was brushing my teeth, Ernie came in and sat
down on the toilet seat, watching.  I was bent over the sink
brushing and eventually I became conscious that my butt was
oscillating back and forth with every stroke of the brush and
Ernie was watching.

I turned around and sputtered through my bubbles, "What?  What
are you looking at?"

"Uh, uh, I like to watch you brush your teeth.  You get
toothpaste all over your mouth and chin." he grinned.

I let him watch.  The boy was curious.  It wouldn't hurt.  I
wasn't wearing panties or bra underneath, but the robe was fairly
opaque with a faint floral pattern.  I finished up, and said,
"Okay, follow me."

He walked behind me out into the bedroom and I crawled up in bed,
moved over close to the wall and patted the space beside me. 
Ernie climbed into the bed and lay on his side facing me on my
side.  I reached over to him and hugged him.  I didn't really
think at the time of any negative affect I might be having on
him, but I pulled his head to my breasts, just a gentle hug, the
thin cotton bodice covered my nipples, of course.  I suppose his
ear might have been on my cleavage, but I only cradled him there
and rocked back a forth a little.

"Honey, I love you more than anything in this world.  Do you know
that?"

He nodded his head, and I noticed the movement on my bare skin of
his cheek and ear.

"You know about where babies come from."

He nodded again.

"I want to tell you a little more about how they get there."  I
knew he must have picked up a good deal at school, but I also
knew that much of it would be inaccurate and crass.

The talk we had was very sweet.  I handled it well, I thought,
but when I sent him back to his room to get dressed, I noticed
his jockey shorts standing out.  On top of this little tent, a
faint trace of yellow stain showed through. I got out bed and
walked to his bedroom. I opened the door and he was just pulling
on a fresh pair of underwear. The dirty briefs were in a tumble
in front of him.

"Ernie, you need to take a shower," I said.

"Aw, Mom!" he frowned.

"Ernie, look at the front of those shorts!"

"Yes, but I already have on clean shorts."

"Do it anyway. Get another pair."

Ernie went to his chest of drawers, looked in and said
triumphantly, "That was the last pair."

"You go on then, get your shower.  I'll get you a fresh pair out
of the dryer."

"But it's chilly this morning, I'll freeze."  

"Ernie!" I said, my exasperation showing.  "Use my shower. It's
already steamy and warm."

I retrieved the fresh underpants and took them back to my
bathroom. Ernie stepped out of shower as I was laying them on top
of the hamper.  I got a fluffy bath towel out of the cabinet
under the sink.  I draped the towel across Ernie's back and
although he could have handled it himself, I started drying him
off, his shoulders, waist, and below the waist.   As I dried him,
I began to admire his developing body.  I was overwhelmed with
his beauty and youth.  I saw his little penis harden and bounce
back when I pushed it down to dry it. I was operating under the
cloak of drying him and he said nothing about it.  I justified
all this to myself by thinking, I'm his mother; I'm interested in
his growth and development. Why should I not observe his
progress?  It's only right to feel this way. 


Go to Part Two

OneGallus@Yahoo.com

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